


Cutting Ties

by sahiya



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Tag, Gen, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-14
Packaged: 2018-01-01 11:56:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neal has a history of cutting ties, but he doesn’t have a history of being all that good at it. (Spoilers up through 5x04.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cutting Ties

**Author's Note:**

> This probably isn't the episode tag anyone expected me to write. Unbeta'd.

The first time, he was eighteen. He shouted at his mother, told her he was never, ever coming back, and slammed the door on his way out. He made good on his word: He hopped a bus to New York and a new life, started picking pockets and grifting. He’d learned all about sleight of hand from his mom, who did magic tricks for him on her good days and never let on that she was pulling the biggest sleight of hand of all on him, right under his nose, for fifteen years. But he tried not to think about that. 

It took Ellen a long time to find him, and he ignored the first letter, the first _three_ letters, that found their way to him. But she was persistent, and eventually he got a PO box just for her. Mozzie said it was incredibly foolish and probably it was, but Neal didn’t care. 

He rarely sent anything back, and when he did he disguised it as junk mail and coded it in a way only she would understand. No one knew that Ellen Parker had ties to Neal Caffrey, even though it probably should’ve been obvious to the Marshals. Still, it was better safe than sorry. 

The letters stopped when he was in prison. Too much of a paper trail, or maybe Ellen was just disappointed in him. He never got around to asking her, and then . . . well. And then it was too late. 

The second time would have been the plane and Kate and Project Mentor. He would have gone, he told himself as days turned into weeks turned into months after Kate’s death. He’d have walked away with Kate and never looked back. He told Peter otherwise, because that was what Peter needed to hear, but he would have cut all his ties and left. 

But the truth is that to this very day, he really isn’t so sure. He wants to believe it, but he never got the chance to decide. Adler took that from him when he took Kate. So even though he tells himself he would have gone, he doesn’t know, can never know. 

The third time was Cape Verde. He would have cut his ties, then, too, but Peter, like Ellen, wouldn’t let him go. Neal tried to be angry at him for it; he could have been happy there eventually, someday. Probably. But he discovered that it was hard to be angry at someone for loving you so damn much he flew halfway around the world to save you, whether you wanted to be saved or not. 

And now - now, Neal doesn’t know what to do. He wants _out_ , he knows that much. He’s tired of being a puppet, a pawn, a piece to be moved. He’s sick of Hagan, and part of him is even sick of Peter. If he’s a criminal, if that’s all he’s ever going to be, then he should just _be_ a criminal, dammit, and be done with everything else. 

It would mean giving up New York again, probably forever. It would mean giving up everyone but Mozzie - Peter and El, Diana and Jones, June and Sara. It would mean . . .

Freedom. 

He hesitates. Mozzie can’t figure out why, and Neal can’t tell him - can’t say that he can’t figure out a way to cut his ties that won’t seriously hurt Peter. 

He shouldn’t care about that, but he does. He dreams of a future where he and Peter have secret PO boxes to exchange coded letters like he and Ellen did, once upon a time. Postcards, small gifts, birthday presents. Maybe every couple of years Peter and El go on vacation, and Neal just happens to be on the same beach in Thailand where they’re sunning or in the very same Parisian café where they’re having lunch. 

He knows this can’t happen. Not really. But he thought cutting his ties would feel better - it _should_ feel better. It should feel like stretching his wings and flying for the first time in years. But it just feels like falling. Like losing. Like giving up and giving in. And he’s not even sure it would work. 

The thing is, Neal has a history of cutting ties, but he doesn’t have a history of being all that good at it. 

He wonders if freedom doesn’t always have to mean running, scorched earth at his back and no way home. He wonders if maybe he should find out. 

“Hi,” he says, when Peter opens the door. 

“Hey,” Peter says, eyeing him warily. “Uh, are you -”

“Sober this time, yeah,” Neal says. Though the truth is that he feels a little buzzed on something. He feels like he’s about to step off the side of a building and he’s not so certain about his parachute. He looks at Peter. “We need to talk.”

Peter’s spine straightens. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

“Probably not,” Neal admits. “But I need you to listen anyway. To the whole story.” 

Peter steps back, holding the door open. “Come on in.”

_Fin_


End file.
